


To Fail Magnificently

by defeatedbyabridge



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defeatedbyabridge/pseuds/defeatedbyabridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toshiko Sato succeeds at everything she attempts, for a certain value of 'success'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Fail Magnificently

Jack keeps pushing and pushing.

"You need a private life, Tosh," he says warningly as he strides past her at eleven one evening, with a folder under one arm. Owen and Gwen have gone home. Ianto's snoring politely neat Ianto-style snores on the couch, curled up in a politely neat ball. 

"You don't seem to have a life outside of Torchwood," she shoots back, deep in the analysis on the birdonic waves -- stupid name, but she hadn't named them -- coming through the Rift. It was fascinating work, and it was necessary work, and what did HE know, anyway?

Time passes, as it always does, and when she next turns to get her mug off Owen's desk, she jumps because Jack's sitting there, swinging his heels. "I have Ianto," he grins. "I have plenty to keep me occupied." 

How does he do it? How does he always look so immaculate, so unrumpled? Tosh scowls at him, only too aware of the state of her hair and the blotch on the front of her blouse from where Owen jostled her earlier while he was eating pizza. 

"I'll think about it."

"Good girl." 

"Patronising git." She didn't mean that to slip out. 

He laughs, unoffended, as usual. "And not something purely for exercise, either. You're fit enough. You keep up with me even in heels." 

And that is how Toshiko Sato, brilliant scientist, winds up in a pair of tap shoes and a pair of tights with a hole on the knee, standing in front of a mirror with a varied group of men and women. She's chased Weevils. She's shot people trying to kill her, or her friends. She's been beaten up, shot at, faced imminent death, seen a friend die -- twice, she's been sent back in time, and she's even had to relive disco. She's coped with all of that. 

But this? This is terrifying. 

The teacher, a hairy young man in his early 20s, takes them through a basic routine, gently but firmly. He doesn't reward incompetence but does compliment even the slightest improvement. Tosh spends the entire lesson trying to pick up a step ball change. 

She looks at herself in the mirror one time, and is appalled by how clumsy she appears. Her face is flushed, hair coming loose from its initial neat bun and trailing down her back. Her t-shirt's rumpled. 

Toshiko Sato is gloriously bad at dancing, and she's having the best time. 

A little Chinese woman talks to her on the way out, and laughs with her about how bad they both are. They go for coffee, which turns into a weekly ritual. 

The hairy teacher suggests a end of year recital. Nothing big. Just for friends and family, in the little church hall where they practice. Tosh is utterly terrified, and utterly disarmed by the thought of actually doing something this... this FRIVOLOUS in front of everyone. They'll've only had fifteen classes in total. She still won't be good. 

The night arrives, and she's surprised to realise just how excited she is, getting ready 'backstage' (in the little bathroom) with Angela and the others. Angela helps with her hair. Tosh zips her up. 

Minutes later, they're chorus lineing their way onto the stage, arms linked. Tosh and Angela are in the back row, still stumbling over their steps, but the lights are bright, and the soloist is surprisingly good (much better than her first week, when she was crying in the corner because her ankles were too fat for tap), and Tosh feels like an absolute, glorious, terrible, star. 

That night, she turns up at Torchwood feeling as if she still has the imprint of Angela's lipstick on her face, and she sits down at her desk as if nothing's happened. 

The recital program, an inept little job listing all of their names (and misspelling hers) materialises on her keyboard in front of her. She looks around, startled. 

Jack.

Of course.

"You were magnificent," he says softly, then he brushes his lips across her forehead. "Sign that for me." 

How did he...

He's Jack. That's all the reason he needs. Tosh shook her head, grinning just a little. "All right."


End file.
